The Path

Where darkness is the darkest,
Where wilderness is the wildest,
Where forest is the densest,
Lone stands a calf in loss .

In the hope of finding its herd,
Wades through the mounting darkness,
Across the Uphill and down dale,
Forging a tortuous path.


Perchance, a dog spots the path,
Treads to where it leads,
Only to stop where it ends,
At the shattered bones of the calf.

Forges that path farther hill,
Hobbles through the curves and crooks,
Wrecked, Weary and wounded,
Crosses the forest intact.

A ram with his flock of sheep,
On seeing the path wide open,
Leads its flock across the hill,
Paving the pathway wide.

The man treads across the same path,
Turing right and left along,
Croucing down and burshing the obatscles,
Ever cursing the tedious path.

Though rational in blaming ways,
Never thought of an alternate way,
Turing right and left all day,
When straight in-line is the shortest.

The path passed through the years,
To a main street of a avenue;
To a highway of a town;
To a expressway of a city.

The traffic swallowed the path,
Fuming and fretting as always,
At the worst possible alignment,
Hopeless, man remained.

The forest laughed at the man,
Who blindly follows any path,
Never caring to reason himself,
To see if it suites him the best.


Note: Adopted from a parable I have read.